How Oliver Got His Groove Back
by Zeft
Summary: Look at the title. Basically a short story on how Oliver rediscovers his Quidditch obsession after the humiliating loss to Hufflepuff in PoA. *chapter 1 up!*
1. Oliver's Big Think

How Oliver Wood got his groove back.  
  
Summary: Look at the title. Basically a short story on how Oliver rediscovers his Quidditch obsession after the humiliating loss to Hufflepuff in PoA.  
  
Disclaimer: JKR owns most of it. And Warner Bros too, the sneaky gits. And I also nicked some good ideas off Nick Hornby. Much apologies to him. He really is talented.  
  
**  
  
Oliver awoke, breathless. He'd done it again. This made it three nights in a row now. How long would it go on?  
  
Oliver thought he'd put a stop to it yesterday night by reciting out loud all the verses to the Beater's Bible, and the night before that by plotting out every single Quidditch play he'd ever come up with (and sleeping with them under his pillow).  
  
But now the situation seemed hopeless. One more non-Quidditch related dream and he could kiss his reputation as Hogwarts's premier hot, athletic jock and all round Quidditch nutcase goodbye.  
  
And the sudden downfall of interest in the beautiful game wasn't exactly his fault, either. If Harry didn't have such a troubled childhood, then that Hufflepuff game would have been in the bag. All Oliver had ever wanted (since he became Captain, anyway) was a good Seeker, but no., he had to get bundled with one that had enough emotional baggage to wear a groove in more than one psychiatrist couch. He wished unimportant would be called upon by The Powers That Be to save the world instead.  
  
And so they had lost; a miserable, cold, wet and utterly pathetic defeat. Losing, (especially to Hufflepuff) wasn't something that Oliver had planned for. He had drilled into his team the dangers of over-confidence, but not for one moment did he believe in it himself, and he didn't think he was fooling anyone. It was true that complacency is best confined to the classroom, especially when he was aiming for a 320-0 win. It would have been a new Gryffindor record.  
  
Losing was something he hadn't needed to come to grips with since fourth year.it had come as quite a shock, and so he had dealt with it the only way he remembered how, the same way he had dealt with it when Puddlemere were knocked out of the Cup by then bottom-placed Cannons. How long was he in there? Until his mother turned off the water supply off and yelled at him to stop wasting Earth's most precious resource, probably.  
  
The point was, (and Oliver didn't like to admit it) the loss against Hufflepuff had seriously dampened his enthusiasm. It was one of those turning points in his life, one of those times that called for a big think. He was heading for goal, and had no idea whether to shoot left or right. The only other time he had had a big think he had shot straight down the middle; he was five and had just gone to his first Quidditch match, the atmosphere was electric and Puddlemere performed like the lions they could be rather than the pussy cats they usually were - at the end he had asked himself two questions; Did he like Quidditch? Yes; Did he want to play Quidditch for the rest of his life? Yes again. And that was the end of his simple, yet effective, big think.  
  
Right now he was seriously considering fluffing his shot and giving up his dream of playing for Puddlemere United and becoming Hogwarts's Flying Instructor instead. He already had the credentials (any bastard can fly) and he wasn't afraid of mid-air rescues. Besides, watching first year Slytherins attempt to land would be the most hilarious thing he could ever see.  
  
**  
  
The next day, however, Oliver had second thoughts.  
  
"Bastard son of a bitch," Simon Dodger raged after Gryffindor were deducted ten points because he breathed too hard onto a Slytherin's potion, "When I become a Potions Master, I'd really love to see the look on his face when I get a higher rating than him. Slimy git."  
  
"You really like Potions that much?" asked Oliver.  
  
"Yeah. Though Snape distorts the dream a bit. I mean, what if I turn out like him?"  
  
"What, sallow and greasy?"  
  
"Not the appearance, the attitude. The 'I'm so good I'll look down my nose at you, despite the fact that all I can do is mix flour and water together and get bread, which any decent cook would know how to do'."  
  
Simon leant his head back, giving everyone an eyeful up his nostrils. Oliver averted his eyes. He doubted Simon would ever turn out like that. It wasn't his style. If Simon had a problem with someone, he wouldn't be politely rude, he'd just tell them to sod off.  
  
"Nah, don't think you'd turn out like that."  
  
"That's a relief. What about you? Still lusting over the no. 1 jersey at Puddlemere?"  
  
"Not anymore. I'm thinking of becoming Hogwarts's Flying Instructor."  
  
Dead silence.  
  
**  
  
A/N: Yes, I realise it's rather short. Just the prologue for now, there will be more in the later chapters (just a couple) on how Oliver gets his groove back, with the help of the irrepressible Simon Dodger, of course. :D  
  
Be a darling, and leave the poor author a review?  
  
-Zeft  
  
PS: I am sorry about Book Nook not being done yet. 


	2. What friends are for

How Oliver Got His Groove Back, Part 1 By Zeft  
  
Disclaimer: JKR and Warner Bros owns all Harry Potter related things. Simon Dodger is mine. And Nick Hornby's ideas belong to him.  
  
A/N: Another short chapter. I quite like writing this in little parts - more productive. Enjoy.  
  
**  
  
"I'm quite worried about Oliver. He's given up Quidditch."  
  
"Are you being funny?"  
  
People often thought Simon was funny. It was one of the perks of being able to lie with a straight face.  
  
"No, I'm not joking. He's seriously off the deep end. He told me he wanted to be Hogwarts Flying Instructor."  
  
"What's wrong with that?"  
  
What's wrong with that??? Simon had never felt more like throttling someone. Too bad it happened to be his girlfriend. After being drenched daily in Puddlemere merchandise for seven long years, subjected fortnightly to intricately detailed discussions on the team's most recent performance, and told monthly that if he didn't manage to break into Puddlemere's first team within a matter of years he'd rather die in a gutter than agree to play for Falcons instead, 'what's wrong with that' was the rudest understatement he'd ever heard.  
  
"Well? What's wrong with it? It's not a bad job."  
  
Simon sighed. It wasn't her fault really. When he asked her after dinner if she'd like to come with him to the Astronomy Tower, she followed him eagerly in anticipation of a good snog session. Or at the very least, some quality relationship talk. He didn't know. But she couldn't have been expecting to play therapist to a guy who she once described as 'creepy'.  
  
"Maybe he's having a mid-life crisis?" she added unhelpfully.  
  
Simon snorted. "At 16? Right, I'm off to tell him that he's going to die at 32."  
  
"Why are you so tetchy tonight anyway?"  
  
"No idea. My whole world has been turned upside down and I'm the only one not walking on the ceiling."  
  
"Maybe it's because he's suddenly.normal." She said, her eyes becoming wide. "And mature."  
  
"Mature should be confined to people over the age of seventy."  
  
"You're just jealous because now that he's not strange anymore, you're the only strange one."  
  
"Boohoo." Simon rolled his eyes. People were meant to be strange. If you weren't strange, you were a sheep. Or a Hufflepuff, possibly. Perhaps that's why Simon was so worried - Oliver was turning canary yellow.  
  
"Basically, I need to help him get back on track. Otherwise we're depriving Scotland of their best Keeper and they'll never make the World Cup."  
  
"He plays for Scotland?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"But he's only 16. That's not possible."  
  
"Sure it is. Mind you, he's not their regular Keeper. The other one's at St. Mungo's right now. Gone Mad. Can't cope with the humiliation."  
  
"You're having me on."  
  
"No, why would I do that? I'm not gaining anything from it."  
  
It was true that he was not gaining anything directly from it. Being English, Simon had no allegiance with the Scottish team - he thought they were quite laughable, really - but the natural high of doing a good deed was in great demand. It didn't come often, (for Simon anyway) and as of yet there was no artificial equivalent. He had a mental note to experiment in Potions some more. If he could come up with the correct recipe, he'd make a fortune.  
  
"I'll help you," she said rather despondently, "but absolutely no dressing up and walking around Hogwarts with Puddlemere colours, alright?"  
  
"No, all good deeds must be anonymous. Make him think an invisible hand is guiding him towards the right path. It's more convincing that way."  
  
"What do you propose we do first, then?" She inquired, pulling Simon up to his feet. She dusted herself off, and tucked her shirt back in. Simon grabbed her hand and ran towards the stairs.  
  
"Let's go graffiti 'Falcons Stink' on every table Oliver sits at."  
  
**  
  
So, Simon and girlfriend are gonna help Oliver. No idea what happens next. Besides the graffitying, that is. Numerous references in this one. Nick Hornby, general football culture, and a couple of in-jokes. Having quite a lot of fun with this. :)  
  
-Zeft 


End file.
